


the most important thing

by onemilliongoldstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa Week 2021, Day 1: Accidental Love Confessions, F/F, Period romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemilliongoldstars/pseuds/onemilliongoldstars
Summary: “Clarke,” The word escapes her pained and soft, “I should never have said that, it was an accident.”“I don’t care,” Clarke tells her, very firmly, and meets her gaze unflinchingly. “I’d like you to tell me again please.”Despite knowing Clarke since they were children Lexa has never dared to believe that she could return her affections, until one night she is forced to act or risk losing her forever.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 35
Kudos: 462
Collections: Clexaweek2021





	the most important thing

**Author's Note:**

> I shamelessly love that part in the period romance where the love interest confesses their love for the main character in a moment of weakness. this fic is just an excuse to write that.

“I’ve never seen a peacock so proud of her feathers.” 

Gazing at herself in the glass, Clarke doesn’t falter at the sound of this barbed remark, although the soft, light tone in which it’s been issued gentles its sting greatly. 

“Perhaps if you took more care of your own plumage you would not be forced to stand on the sidelines tonight and watch me enjoy all of the fun,” She answers, smartly, though her eyes do not move from where she is adjusting the jewels set within her hair, twisting the diamonds this way and that to catch the light. 

As she expected, the figure loitering in the doorway is forced to cross the few paces into the room and appears behind her, her reflection just as dark and brooding as Clarke knew it would be. In truth, she knows that a lack of suitable prospects is not the reason Lexa lingers on the sides of the many balls and dances of the season rather than parading around one eligible lady after the other. She appears as striking as always in her long, dark coat, her curls pinned artfully back, and Clarke hopes her oldest friend doesn’t see the way that her breath catches at the sight of her. 

Lexa arches an eyebrow and says, as politely as it seems she is able. “Your mother informed me that you have been fussing for an hour at least. I have been sat with her for twenty minutes, are you really going to keep me waiting any longer?”

“I am quite capable of escorting myself to the dance, you know.” Clarke rolls her eyes, but stands from her place at the looking glass nonetheless, straightening out her dress and brushing away imaginary creases. 

“We both know your mother would never allow that,” Lexa turns on the spot to watch as she collects her gloves and fan from their place laid out expectantly on the dresser. “So I am tasked with the unfortunate task of ensuring you make a safe journey.”

“An unfortunate task,” Clarke scoffs as they set off down the corridor, falling into easy step beside each other as they have since they were children, Lexa shortening her longer stride just a little to allow Clarke to easily keep pace. “It is a good thing too that you are required to escort me, or you would arrive on your stallion dishevelled and out of breath, and never be invited again.”

Lexa offers an arm to her as they descend the staircase and Clarke’s fingers slip into the crook of her elbow with practiced ease. 

Her mother waiting in the hallway is surely the only reason that Lexa bites back her comment, painting on a charming smile for Lady Griffin. 

“Such a shame to miss you and Lord Griffin this evening,” Clarke overhears Lexa saying, as her lady’s maid helps her into her cloak, and when she sneaks a glance she finds that her mother is gazing at Lexa with a sort of secret knowing. 

In the carriage they sit beside one another, allowing the cobbled street below them to bump their shoulders together, and Lexa picks up their conversation as if no time has passed. 

“Am I to assume there’s a reason behind your preening tonight?”

Clarke rolls her eyes again, biting the inside of her cheek to avoid a grin. “There’s nothing wrong with caring about one’s appearance.” She can’t quite look at Lexa, hoping that she doesn’t see that the real reason she enjoys fussing so much is to force Lexa to come and fetch her.

“Indeed not,” Lexa agrees, with mock seriousness, “Unless of course it is all in aid of catching the eye of Lord Finn.” 

“Oh I think we can consider his eye well and truly caught.” Clarke allows herself to grin this time, but when she glances back at her companion she finds that Lexa’s expression is sharp with distaste. Clarke allows herself a small, frustrated sigh. “Oh come along Lexa, you must admit he’s an excellent match.”

“He would be if you cared at all for him.” Lexa retorts and Clarke feels her temper flare hotly. 

“How do you know I don’t care for him?”

“Oh I would hope you’d have more sense than to fall for such a stupid man,” Lexa answers, fixing her with a green gaze so intense that Clarke feels gooseflesh rise on her exposed decollatage. 

She blusters, “Lord Finn is a good man and from a good family, he would be a worthy match for anyone.”

“Yes, if he spent less time gambling away his money in the whore houses.” Lexa bites back, but Clarke continues as if she has not heard her. 

“And besides, what is the problem with me enjoying his company, enjoying a little flirtation?” 

“You are better than that,” Lexa is so impassioned Clarke is momentarily struck dumb. “Your favour it-” Lexa cuts herself off, pressing a clenched fist to her lips and when she turns to gaze out of the window her jaw is so tight it could cut glass. 

Clarke’s words seem caught in her throat and she presses her lips together, gazing at Lexa and willing herself to find the right words. Something sits between them, the same hot, heavy feeling that Clarke feels has been plaguing them for months, stiff with words unsaid and thoughts unclear. She wishes-  _ god  _ she wishes- that Lexa would just say what seems to plague her so, though she knows it will tear them apart when finally she does. It keeps her up at night, imagining the moment in which Lexa will give voice to the thoughts that seem to gather like vultures when they are alone together, and imagining her own response, how she will maintain her composure despite losing her closest and most wonderful friend, a friend who she- 

“Your favour is worth much more than that,” Lexa interrupts her thoughts and Clarke is jarred back to reality. Her friend seems more composed now, “So I would urge you to guard it wisely.” 

Clarke opens her mouth to respond, not knowing exactly what she will say, but Lexa’s gaze falls back to the window again and her hand, where it rests upon her knee, is clenched into a fist. She seems uninviting of conversation and so instead Clarke sets her eyes out of her own window, trying desperately to fight down the butterflies fluttering through her stomach at Lexa’s words. 

\---

The air in the ballroom is hot and stuffy, filled as it is with the best society town has to offer, and Clarke is grateful when her most recent dance partner offers to fetch her a drink, and she is able to find her way back to where her friend is waiting, batting away suitors with a wave of her hand. Raven’s attitude towards suitors, she often thinks, is even more offhand than her own. The daughter of a wealthy man who invested wisely before promptly dying, she is the heiress to a great fortune and so would be a great catch for anyone, but Raven seems unlikely to settle down soon and like to ruffles feathers with her appearances at these dances. 

“Clarke,” Raven reaches out and grasps her hand when she is close, pulling her into her side. “Have you seen our friend?” She nods to the centre of the hall, where people are swirling in and out of one another. “Octavia is enraptured.”

Clarke follows her gaze and watches as Octavia is spun in the arms of the tall and handsome Sir Lincoln. They certainly seem as a perfect couple, unaware of anyone else in the room besides each other. 

“She will be married soon,” Raven observes, and Clarke’s brows pinch into a frown. 

“She is so young though.” 

“Her brother may ask her to wait, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Octavia refuses,” Raven seems gleeful in anticipation of the upcoming raucous. “They have been courting for the last three months, he will surely ask her soon.” She fixes Clarke with an unreadable look. “Soon it will be your turn.”

“My turn?” Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “You’re missing yourself, surely?”

“Oh I will never marry,” Raven shakes back the curls falling down her shoulders haughtily. “I will simply die a rich, unmarried old maid and leave all of my money to an unsuspecting niece or nephew.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the right person yet.” Clarke accepts the drink the young man she had been dancing with offers her, but turns her back to him the moment it is in her hand, dismissing him with barely a word.

“And perhaps you have?” Raven is staring at her again with that intense, odd expression, and Clarke lets out a little scoff. 

“Lord Finn?” She asks, quietly, and glances back at where the young man in question is watching her hopefully through the crowd. “I should think not.” 

“I was speaking of another,” Raven states, very clearly, but Clarke pretends not to have heard her and continues. 

“Anyway, perhaps I won’t marry either. Why should I?”

“If you love someone you should,” Raven corrects her, artfully, and her gaze flickers across the room. Clarke doesn’t have to follow it to know who she is looking at. 

She has known where Lexa has been all night, always somehow seems to know where she is in any room. Perhaps it is the stormcloud that follows her around, or her disapproval whenever she catches Lexa watching her dance with one suitor or another. Either way, she feels herself flush a little at Raven’s implication, though it is far from the first time she has made it. 

“I’ve told you Raven, we are only friends.”

“Only friends don’t look at each other the way she looks at you.” Raven counters, smartly, and Clarke drains her glass, letting the fizzing champagne bubbles keep her from speaking for a moment. 

“She disapproves of me,” She corrects her friend at last, “Lexa thinks I am frivolous and silly to carry on the way I do and one of these days she will tell me so and our friendship will truly be over.”

“You’re an utter fool,” Raven shakes her head, disgusted, and Clarke purses her lips. “She hates that you carry on the way you do because she’s  _ jealous _ and you only continue to do it because it attracts her ire.”

“You’re  _ wrong _ .” Clarke darts back, so emphatically that Raven blinks in surprise, but can’t conjure a response before Clarke turns on her heel and makes her way back across the hall to fetch herself another drink. 

\---

Beside Lexa, Lady Anya seems utterly bored with all of the proceedings, playing with her glass and ignoring the many eligible partners looking to take her hand. “Why don’t you simply ask her to dance?” 

Lexa’s eyes dart away from where she has been watching Clarke stalk away from her friend across the ballroom, and she feels a guilty blush spread across her cheeks. 

“She doesn’t want to dance with me,” She says, sternly, but Anya is not appeased by this. 

“Of course she does, she seemed like she enjoyed it very much when you deigned to take her hand a fortnight ago at the spring gala.” 

Lexa’s cheeks burn anew at the memory of that night. Clarke had been so utterly beautiful, with flowers woven into her hair and a flush as if spring itself had kissed her cheeks that night. When Lexa had held her in her arms she had smelt of lilacs and lavender, and her smile had been all Lexa could see for hours afterwards. 

Still, she rebukes. “That’s different, we grew up together learning that waltz, I had to dance with her then.”

“And you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy it?” Anya jibes, nudging her in the ribs, and Lexa scowls at her so fiercely that Anya’s eyebrows rise. 

“You know I did.” Is all she says, quietly, and then her gaze softens and returns to where Clarke is speaking to Lord Finn, her heart striking that familiar ache. “But she doesn’t think of me that way.”

“And how will you ever know that for certain if you don’t ask her?” Anya’s voice is lazy, this is an argument they have had over a dozen times and Lexa rather feels she is picking it again now out of habit more than anything else. 

“She thinks of me as a friend, her oldest friend.” Lexa shakes her head, “She thinks I am boring and dull and she only tolerates me for the affection she once held for me as a child.”

“That isn’t true,” Anya barks back a little more fiercely, and grabs at Lexa’s arm, pulling her around to tear her eyes from Clarke. “You are none of those things,” When Lexa’s expression creases dubiously, Anya continues with passionate loyalty. “If she mistakes your honesty and respectability and  _ sense _ for those things then she is well below you.”

“She is not,” Lexa counters, glancing back to where Clarke is being led out onto the ballroom floor by Lord Finn in preparation for the new dance. 

“Well if you aren’t going to work up the courage to speak to her you may as well enjoy yourself.” Lady Anya turns and steps into the path of a young lady walking by, pasting on her most charming smile. “Miss Maya, Lady Lexa would like to ask if you’d have this dance with her?” She gives a conspiratorial smile. “She’s too nervous to ask you herself.”

“Anya!” Lexa hisses her rebuke, but smiles agreeably when Miss Maya turns to look at her, perplexed but clearly pleased to be asked to dance. She offers out her arm to the lady and together they make their way onto the dance floor, Lexa taking just a second to curse Anya silently in her head before concentrating on the young woman before her. 

Maya is a sweet, agreeable girl, and while Lexa has unfortunately been enamoured with Clarke since she was just 9 years old, she knows that Maya is considered to be quite the catch. In fact, she’s sure she can feel the eyes of the young man who has been courting her boring into her back in this very moment. 

“Thank you for asking me to dance, Lady Lexa.” There is something of a secret smile on Maya’s lips and Lexa feels her cheeks heat yet again, cursing Anya once more for her utter lack of tact. 

“I am very happy to dance with you,” She assures the young lady, as kindly as she can, and she is saved from any further comment by the musicians beginning to play once again. 

Maya is a good dancer, and Lexa finds that she may even be enjoying herself, until they swing too close to where Clarke is dancing with Lord Finn, and she sees Clarke craning her neck to look back at who Lexa is dancing with, her eyes wide with surprise. Desperately, suddenly, Lexa wishes she were anywhere but here, on this dance floor, watching Clarke so closely being held by a man she considers a worthless philanderer. Maya seems to sense her unease, because she doesn’t attempt any more conversation and when the music finally finishes she doesn’t press Lexa for another dance. 

Keen to get away from the lingering partners and the expectant women looking to seek her next hand, Lexa hurries to get a drink, pausing in a darkened corner to hide away from the curious gazes. Of course, it is here that Clarke finds her, unerring and certain, like a homing pigeon finding its roost.

“You were dancing!” Clarke says in astonished delight, not pausing to greet her. “I thought you would never dance again!”

“I dance sometimes,” Lexa returns, taking another sip of her drink to hide any expression in her eyes that may give her away. 

“Barely!” Clarke retorts, leaning in close to her and bringing with her that divine smell of lilacs. “You never dance with me when I ask you to.”

“You don’t often ask,” Lexa counters, watching her from over her glass. 

“Only because I thought you didn’t want to!” Clarke gazes up at her through the dim light and there is something in her sapphire eyes, a spark of something Lexa can’t quite recognise. “But you shouldn’t dance with Miss Maya,” She wrinkles her pretty nose and Lexa wishes for a moment that she had a fan to hide her smile behind. “She’s nice, but she wouldn’t do for a wife Lexa.”

“Oh, you are lecturing me on my choice of dance partners now, are you?” Lexa arches an eyebrow, “I expect the only person you would consider acceptable would be yourself?”

“Well,” Clarke hesitates, seeming to surprise even herself when she says. “Yes, actually-”

“Lady Clarke!” They are interrupted by the sudden appearance of Lord Finn at Clarke’s side, and Lexa clenches the fist hidden behind her back to keep from throwing a punch at the boy’s stupid, smug face. He makes no apology for interrupting them and instead takes Clarke’s hand, asking pleadingly. “Would you step into the gardens with me, please?”

Lexa bites back the horrified retort that rises to the tip of her tongue for him, instead fixing the boy with a hard stare. She knows what men like him want with a girl in the quiet of the rose bushes, and she is close to reaching out a hand to stop Clarke if she goes, when Clarke answers for herself. 

“Lord Finn, you know I can’t step out without a chaperone, people would talk.” She gives him a wan smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I was just speaking with Lady Lexa.”

“I must speak with you though,” Finn holds onto her hand a little more tightly and Clarke’s expression tightens with frustration, the sort of expression she would give to Lexa when she refused to cooperate in a wildly complicated make believe game or go swimming in the lakes on their estates. 

“Can it not wait?” She asks, tightly. 

“I cannot,” Finn glances wildly around and Lexa realises in that moment that the boy is drunk, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “I cannot wait one more moment Lady Clarke.”

“Lord Finn,” Clarke is actively trying to pull her hand from his grip now and though they are in a more secluded part of the ballroom, the raucous is catching the attention of those surrounding them, many of whom are turning to watch the exchange with mounting curiosity. 

“Lady Clarke, I can bear it no longer.” In one horrifying second Lexa knows exactly what is about to happen and the sudden dread builds in her stomach so quickly that she catches her breath. 

Lord Finn, still holding Clarke’s hand tightly, drops to one knee before them both and asks, his voice quavering. 

“Will you marry me, Lady Clarke?”

A shocked silence follows his words and Lexa can see the people around them exchanging horrified glances. To ask Clarke so publicly is embarrassment enough, but Lexa knows that the boy has not asked Lord Griffin’s permission to propose in such a way, and the shame it would bring upon the family is so great that she stares at the boy with contempt. 

And then Clarke opens her mouth to answer and Lexa knows in that one awful moment that she won’t be able to stand to hear Clarke’s response. 

Turning on her heel, she flees from the ballroom, not caring who is staring after her, not caring that by leaving in this way she is surely displaying her affections for Clarke clearly enough for even the blind to see it. The footmen cannot open the doors to the terrace and the surroundings gardens quickly enough as she comes hurrying through and she barely nods to them, taking each step two at a time. The walk to the rose garden is lit by flickering candles and her coat billows around her legs, so rapid are her strides. 

The cool air feels good on her face but still she can’t calm her beating heart, can’t bear to think of Clarke marrying that man. She knows with good faith that she will not be able to be present at the wedding, an affront that Clarke will not take lightly and as she pauses, leaning back again the bark of a large, ornamental magnolia tree planted in the middle of a grassy lawn, she already begins to invent business that will take her from the country entirely for the first few years of Clarke’s marriage. 

Their families are so close, and have been for so long, that Lexa will surely be expected to be a doting aunt to Clarke’s children, a listening ear when she inevitably finds complaint with her lacklustre husband. Even the thought is enough to make her bristle, but not seeing Clarke for months, perhaps even years… that too brings an ache to her heart she can barely stand. 

“Lexa!”

As if conjured by magic the object of her thoughts appears from around the corner. Clarke’s curls are beginning to fall about her face and she is holding her dress up from the path as if she has been running to follow her. 

She has not acted quickly enough, Lexa realises with yet more dawning horror. Clarke is already engaged, has come to show her ring and demand to know why Lexa had disappeared during her engagement. She tries to conjure up a smile, but it only becomes a grimace, and she can’t bring herself to move away from her spot leaning against the tree as Clarke crosses the grass towards her. 

“What were you thinking, rushing away like that?” Clarke demands, as she comes close enough to be heard and in the moonlight she appears especially beautiful. 

“I’m sorry I just- I couldn’t stand to stay!” Lexa can’t help but confess, and Clarke stares at her in dismay, pausing only a few steps away. Fury rushes through her, like she’s never felt before and she barely knows what she’s saying when she continues. “You cannot marry that man Clarke! He is a good for nothing scoundrel, he’ll cause you nothing but heartache! You deserve someone better!”

“You seem to have many opinions on who I ought to marry.” Clarke darts back, angrily, and Lexa can see from here that her chest is heaving with furious breaths. 

“Of course I do, I love you!” The words seem to escape her in a rush, the weight of years of being unsaid pushing them from her lips so suddenly that she almost feels them within the air, lingering between them. Clarke is staring at her, her eyes like saucers in the moonlight, and Lexa cannot seem to stop herself any more. The words, now said, seem to demand to be said again and she throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “There, I’ve finally said it! I love you Clarke, I’m sorry if it ruins our friendship, and trust that I expect nothing else from you but-” She catches her breath, gazing at Clarke emphatically, drowning in those sapphire pools. “Please hear me when I say you cannot marry Lord Finn. He will make you miserable, I know it.”

Clarke, seemingly stunned into speechlessness for the first time in her life, finally finds her tongue enough to say, her voice breathy and disbelieving. “You… you love me?”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa cringes just a little, rubbing at the back of her neck as the true weight of her words settle upon her and dread curls in her stomach. “I didn’t exactly mean to - it shouldn’t matter that I love you Clarke, only that you should not accept-”

“Wait,” Clarke crosses the space between them so suddenly that Lexa takes a startled step backwards and collides with the magnolia tree shading them from the moonlight. She is so close that she can hold out a hand and touch it very gently to Lexa’s chest, fingertips skating against her shirt and halting her words as surely as if she’d put a hand to her mouth. “Stop, just- say it again.”

“Do  _ not  _ marry Lord-”

“Not  _ that _ !” Clarke gives her the same exasperated look she has given her since they were children and Lexa’s heart softens a little. “The other thing. The most important thing.”

“Clarke,” The word escapes her pained and soft, “I should never have said that, it was an accident.”

“I don’t care,” Clarke tells her, very firmly, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “I’d like you to tell me again please.”

Lexa is powerless under her eyes. “I love you.” 

“You love me.” Clarke echoes and there is something reverent to her voice that sends gooseflesh down Lexa’s arms. “You love  _ me _ .”

“I do,” Lexa acquiesces, and it is like taking a breath when starved of air, a blessed, holy relief that fills every inch of her. “I do, dear Clarke, and I have done since we were children.” Gently, she takes the hand that Clarke holds to her chest in one of her own, “Please know I don’t say this to pressure you,” She lets out a little, self conscious laugh, “I didn’t even really mean to say it at all. But I expect nothing of you, and if you refute me tonight I will never call on you again if it would make you happy.”

Clarke is gazing at her, wonderment written plain across her face. She does not pull her hand away. “I never thought- never assumed to think that you could-” A smile spreads slowly across her features and Lexa is baffled when her friend falls into her with a little delighted sob, burying her face in Lexa’s shoulder. Automatically her arms curl around Clarke, holding her delicately. 

Something is beginning to blossom in her chest, something awfully close to hope and she knows that if she lets it bloom and then is dashed she may never recover so she forces herself to ask, very tentatively. “Clarke am I to believe… could you return my affections? In time?”

Clarke pulls away just a little to look at her with incredulity, and then places her hand on Lexa’s neck to lean in and capture her lips in a kiss so sound and sure that Lexa is certain the world could turn on its axis beneath her feet and she would never know. Kissing Clarke is like drinking an elixir, and she feels as if she has reached the heavenly plane just from one touch of her golden lips. 

It ends far too quickly, as Clarke pulls away and looks at her, a smile already forming on her lips. “Does that answer your question?”

“I think it does.” Lexa shakes her head, and can’t help but lean back in again to capture another kiss from those gorgeous, golden lips, holding Clarke so close that she fears they will become one if they aren’t careful. When at last she leans back, gasping for air, she keeps Clarke close to her, their foreheads touching and Clarke gazes at her. 

“You’ve known for all of these years?” She murmurs, “And I only now, in this moment?”

“I’ve always been faster than you,” Lexa teases back, tucking an errant curl behind Clarke’s ear and Clarke grins back at her. 

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for then. You had better ask me to marry you now.” The words send a thrill so beautiful through Lexa that it takes her a moment to find her words. 

At last she says. “Gladly, but you must say it first.”

Clarke’s brows quirk into a curious little frown, “Say what?”

“The most important thing.”

Clarke’s smile blossoms and blooms like the magnolia flowers creating a canopy above them, and when she finally speaks, each word is punctuated with a kiss. 

“I love you.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, let me know below what you thought! A reminder that Clexa Week 2021 is going on both here and on tumblr, go check out all of the other amazing works!


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